


Give all to love's black wings

by Sevaia



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), NivanField - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Slow romance building, Super virus, Tags and characters will be updated while I write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevaia/pseuds/Sevaia
Summary: As the water smothers Piers slowly, he thinks he's a dead man.But something unexpected saves him and gives him a dubious second chance.





	1. Lays of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I now write Nivanfield fics, who woulda known!
> 
> This fic is supposed to fit into the game universe as well as possible so I will keep up good research so I don't contradict anything major, but if I do miss something, do tell me!
> 
> The background is the gameverse of Resident Evil 6 mostly, and I'll be taking factoids out of the other games, but if anything in them is contradictory I will be sticking to RE6 as canon.

Pushing Chris into the escape pod had taken a lot out of him, physically and emotionally, and Piers knew he couldn't hold on for much longer.

Both his humanity and his consciousness seemed to slip away from him as he watched the pod fade from view, his tears melting into the water rushing in through the gap left by the pod.

He vaguely saw the giant figure of HAOS approach the pod.

How dare that damn B.O.W. try to undo his efforts!

With a final surge of anger he gritted his teeth, raised his arm and built up the pressure coursing through the thing.

Even as he controlled his arm he couldn't help but feel alien at the sight.

The thing was black, with spikes jutting out of it at seemingly random intervals.

As the charge built Piers looked the arm over again, concluding quickly that it both was and wasn't his.  
He controlled it with his last shreds of sanity, but the arm was already twitching like a life wire, like it was a living creature trying to rip itself from his control.

The blinding blue crackled with a certain finality as the water rose higher and higher at breakneck speed.

Finally, as the charge seemed to spread its crackling light into his brain, he let go.

The shot sparked and crackled in what little air was left in the room, and shot at the B.O.W. with a near gleeful precision, spinning but never losing its trajectory or intensity.

Piers felt strangely proud of himself.

Even if his captain could never see him as someone worthy of his love, he would at least view him as a hero.

Piers was glad for every little piece of Chris' heart he could conquer, but it had quickly seemed to Piers that every shard and splinter he won had become harder and harder to come by, and he concluded at some point that his Captain's heart would never entirely belong to him, no matter how hard he tried.

He bemused the cause quickly.

To him there were only a few contenders.  
Either Chris didn't like him the way Piers wanted him to, or Chris was too scared of giving his heart away entirely, fearing a loss that would hit him even harder than the loss of the rest of the old alpha team.

Piers both hoped and didn't hope it was the last case, for as much as he didn't want his dear captain to get hurt again, he wanted him just as much.

Piers sighed, feeling like his last breath escaped him with the drawn out sigh.

His life had been way too confusing recently, torn in two by desire and duty.

And now it was about to end.

Piers faced the water rolling in and smiled.

At least he lived on.

And then the water hit him.


	2. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for a bit of angst. 
> 
> I would also like to remind all you lovely folks that Piers is left handed, so even if there was something wrong with his right arm he wouldn’t notice immediately as he would be using his dominant arm to explore!

There was a peace to the blackness behind his eyes, free of pain, sorrow and worry.

Piers wondered if he had ever been this relaxed, even at the moments when he had managed to sneak in a few days away from the stress of the BSAA.

Always, even when he had gotten himself away from the base physically, there was a voice in the back of his mind, nagging about how he should return, how he was needed, how he was irreplaceable, what if something happened when he wasn’t there?

Unsurprisingly, most of Piers’ holidays had been cut short by his own conscience, and he had grown into quite the workaholic, always striving to be the best and stay the best.

He admitted, sourly, that most of his intense work ethic was centered on being the best at the most things.

So Chris would look at him.

He wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream, but the water that had quickly filled his lungs allowed none of those actions.

He wondered, on the brink of consciousness, why drowning was this peaceful.

The water entering his lungs forcefully had hurt, the salt stinging and tearing as it made its way to everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be.

The few moments he had spent trying to breathe, choking, clawing his throat and feeling an oppressing darkness overtake him, had been torture.

The water had quickly taken away every chance at movement he still had, dragging his still body away on the fickle currents of the ocean.

It dawned on him, very slowly, that it was weird that, even though he was dead, he was able to think. To feel. To contemplate.

He didn’t like it one bit.

Was it a form of hell to let a pained workaholic be stuck in his own mind?

He did think that he deserved hell, even though his actions had been for the good of the masses, and sometimes solely for the good of one, the things he had done weren’t pretty at all.

He carded through the faces of every single human he could remember killing.

Most faces had been narrowed down to a single feature, the one thing he could remember most.

The eyes.

Every single mutated human being he had ever shot had held sorrow in their eyes, having already accepted their death and hoping for it to come quickly and cleanly, even as they swiped wildly at him.

Maybe, or so he feared, the actions of these corrupted husks weren’t fully based on the input of the virus.

There was a certain human feature he had seen before that sickened him immensely.

The need for company.

Not in the positive way of friendship or love, but in the way of misery.

Bile had often risen up his throat as he saw people drag others down with them, desperate for a hold, for salvation, not thinking about what they were doing to others, but only thinking egotistically.

Oh how many people had he seen, running away from the infected or whatever other danger humanity slung at them, pushing as many people as they could into the way of the danger, hoping they would be spared.

And maybe the infected were the same, wishing for others to join them, to share their pain, their horrifying state, so that they could lift the weight a bit.

Terrifying actions taken from a very human emotion.

Loneliness.

There was very little that Piers didn’t know about loneliness and its many facets, so in a way he could understand those actions that disgusted him, and that thought gnawed at his mind painfully.

Would he have dragged Chris down with him if he was any more desperate?

He laughed bitterly as he thought that even though he might be dead, he would’ve loved the company of his captain.

……

Laughed…..

He mimicked the motion again, feeling bubbles escape his mouth.

….How?

He slowly but surely started moving his limbs, starting at his toes and fingers, moving up to his legs and arms, and slowly he opened his eyes, scared of the sting that would eat at his eyes as the salt entered behind his eyelids.

But…nothing?

His vision slowly adjusted, and he could see himself floating only a few feet above the bottom of the sea.

A sharp ache hit his head as he kept focusing, noticing something lacking.

Well shit.

He could see absolutely nothing through his right eye.

As he managed to upright himself in the water, he lifted a hand to his face, holding it over the eye, quickly assessing that his right eye was completely blinded, not even the shadow of his hand was visible through the damaged eye.

He slowly felt around his eye, and felt a thick ridge or such, like a very badly healed scar, crossing his face, starting in his neck and stopping a little bit above his left eye.

The skin, or was it skin, it felt suspiciously slimy, pulsed under his fingers, trailing exactly where he had felt the infection spread.

His mind slowly caught up to this strange fact, and he quickly moved his left arm to his right arm.

He had not realized that there was something wrong, or right, as he had moved his right arm just fine moments before.

The skin on his arm had moved to being a disgusting blackened purple, pulsing in the same way the scar tissue on his face did, but it had mercifully retracted to hold a shape that was close to a human arm.

The sharp spikes that had riddled his arm weirdly were still there, but had arranged themselves more neatly along the back of his arm, close together but far enough apart to fan out in a shape that almost looked like a fin.

His fingers, though they hadn’t felt differently before, held long claws where the last digit was supposed to be, jutting out of his skin like it was normal, just a hint of blood on the tips.

Piers breathed in deeply, shocked and about to hyperventilate, on the verge of a panic attack he wasn’t sure he could conquer.

Step away from it.

This is something you should be able to deal with.

He quickly ran his fingers over his neck, scratching at an itchy spot.

As his fingers caught on something, he screamed as a trickle of water diluted blood clouded up from his neck.

Hurt, biting his lip and trying not to panic again, he moved his hand back to the same spot. 

Three ridges were arranged neatly below each other, expanding and retracting as he breathed, the top one slightly torn.

So… that was how?

That… was?

His breath hitched in his… whatever is breath came from now.

He tried very hard to compose himself, but it was no use.

Piers Nivans, a man who hadn’t cried in a long time, cried like a child, screaming on the top of his lungs at whatever did this to him, whatever made him into this monster.

He breathed quickly, trying hard to catch his breath between screaming and crying, hyperventilating fully as he curled in on himself and wished this wasn’t real.

Get through this.   
He told himself.

But at the moment, all he could do was panic, close himself off from the world, wishing with all of his heart that he had been monstrous enough to pull Chris with him.

He needed him at that moment, but he wasn’t there.

He had done that himself, on purpose, fighting off his muddled psyche for long enough to push his captain away. 

Wherever Chris was, he was save.

Piers hoped, torn between his egotistical need for the man and the sense of duty he still held, that the captain was save, and that he would forget about him.

Whatever Piers was now, however much he wanted Chris to be there, he didn’t want the captain to see him this weak, this broken.

He mustered up the strength to at least will the thought of pulling Chris into this too out of his head.

He would get through this, alone, as he had done before.

He would just, if he knew what was good for Chris, stay away from him.

Let go of the affection he held for his captain.

Amidst his panic, his desperation, he tried his hardest to distance himself from the warm memories he held of Chris, but he couldn’t.

As he slowly indulged himself in the memories he had dragged up, trying to forget them, he managed to calm down a bit, and start to assess his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alone by Sara Teasdale 
> 
> First rule of the perfect virus: The perfect virus is capable of adjusting to survive in any environment.
> 
> I’m very sorry for taking a bit to update this, I tend to forget about it if I haven’t done it regularly, and I had some weeks in which other activities held a higher priority.


	3. He is More than a Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst! So much angst!

The light hit the pod in an eye-blinding way, waking up the dazed inhabitant of the metal construct.

Chris Redfield, mostly called ‘captain’ by his second-in-command Piers Nivans, had promoted the slightly padded floor of the pod to a seat or bed of sorts, on which he now sat, looking out of the small window, unmoving.

It looked like he was waiting for something, someone, and if he were conscious enough to talk he’d surely answer ‘yes’ to that with a certain desperation in his voice.

As he sat a wave of loss and powerlessness washed over him, heavy enough to stop his body from moving.

The last one had died.

The last surviving member of the old alpha team had perished, to save him.

He couldn’t face the facts very well.

If Piers was gone, the only person who’d gone through the same loss, could recall fond memories with him and had become an anchor of sorts to the alpha team captain, he didn’t know what he’d do.

For now, all he did and could do was sit there quietly, hoping to whatever entity was around that he wouldn’t get a violent panic attack, flip or break the pod and undo all Piers had sacrificed his life for.

It stung to think about him.

Stung like a freshly disturbed hornet’s nest, and Chris dimly wondered why this time, the sting didn’t linger in his mind but in his chest.

A voice in the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like Ada Wong’s voice, whispered to him softly: “You lost another one….”

And for some reason he couldn’t take it anymore. 

It started with a single tear, dripping down his cheek slowly, but soon Chris was crying fully, feeling too numb to try to stop it.

A low whine, entirely unlike the ‘strong and manly’ Chris Redfield everyone else saw, escaped him as he continued crying, sobbing and whining filling the silence in the pod, and disturbing the utter chaos in his head.

He didn’t know how long he’d cried when he finally managed to pull himself together.

The throbbing headache, combined with the sting in his chest and the multitude of bruises, scrapes and gashes he’d gained during the day created a general mass of pain where he supposed his body was.

He wearily concluded that he couldn’t protect anyone precious to him, and forced his hand to push down on the blood stained badge he held.

The sharp edges of the star on it dug into his hand with a vengeance, and when he lifted his hand up to look at the badge the edges were stained with fresh blood, dripping slowly onto his shirt.

And that is where Chris sat, on the floor of the pod, staring and the badge, sad and furious but without enough energy to act on that fury. 

That is where Claire found him, looking like the shadow of a man regaled as a hero. 

She looked at the scene, noticed the bloody badge and the fact that Piers was nowhere to be found, and just wordlessly threw her arms around Chris.

A drawn out, whine like growl escaped Chris at that, and his eyes slowly drew away from the badge to look at her. 

The clear non-recognition and plea in his eyes nearly broke her, and she flinched bodily.

But the look only lasted for a few seconds before recognition dawned in his eyes, and he silently started crying again, showing her an incredibly wry smile.

He hugged her back with one arm, the badge still clasped in his other hand and his arm suspended in the air like it was frozen.

He tried to say something, croaked, cleared his throat and tried again.

His voice was steady through the tears.

“Thanks for coming….” He spoke softly.

 

It took them some effort to get Chris on the small search and rescue vessel, Chris was emotionally and physically exhausted and couldn’t stand without swaying, a fact he apologized profusely for multiple times to the soldier on his one and Claire on his other side.

Claire always answered these excuses with a small smile, as if saying that it wasn’t his fault at all, and when Chris looked away from her a cold hand grasped at her chest.

She was worried out of her mind. 

Last time this happened she lost him for way too long. And this time there was no one but her to bring him back, no one who could jog his memory of his alpha team, of the past, both sad and happy, and of the duty filled captain he was on the battlefield and off. 

No Piers.

She knew so little about who Chris was on the field, she had no personal experience with him as a captain, she only had whatever others told her, and a memory that second hand and shallow had no guarantee of working on the grief stricken Chris. 

She bit her cheek hard and didn’t notice it when a trickle of blood welled up from the open wound.

How would she deal with this without Piers? 

The question itself brought a flicker of desperation into her thoughts and she nearly started the downwards spiral Chris was wallowing on the bottom of. She shook her head violently to remove the thought, but it stayed there, whispering at the edges of her mind, clawing at her insecurities while she turned to Chris and smiled. 

She didn’t know how to fix this, but she would damn well try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He is More than a Hero by Sappho
> 
> Leeeeet’s not mention how late this is shall we? I do am sorry about that though >x>
> 
> I do hope there are some people who enjoy this, it’s good practice for writing mental distress and describing emotions.  
> I should make these chapters 2k like Seafloor Serenade sometime soon, it gives the story a lot more body.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set as an introductory chapter, it's all set before my research into the gameverse of RE. 
> 
> It's mostly to remind me to keep writing this. Hope y'all like it! I'll be taking my chapter titles from poetry, as the fic title was inspired by a poem too.
> 
> Also, future chapters will be much longer, I promise.


End file.
